


Moments Lost

by muses_circle



Series: The Stanford Years [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Stanford Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-06
Updated: 2011-04-06
Packaged: 2019-01-31 23:04:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12692040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muses_circle/pseuds/muses_circle
Summary: There are times when remembering is the worst thing to experience.





	Moments Lost

The midday air is crisp, the reminder of fall just around the corner. It puts a smile on Sam’s face as he saunters along the walkway that will take him to his law ethics class. This is his favorite time of day, when the sun is bright and the thrum of life beats in his chest, reminding him that he’s a part of this thing called campus life. The unseen connection between him and the other students – laden down with backpacks and books – is security. Like Sam _belongs_.

He thinks briefly about Jessica Moore, his girlfriend. The blonde-haired girl he met at the library a few days before his birthday. A lifetime ago, though he had immediately felt like they had known each other forever. Sam ruminates on her soft smile as he remembers working up the nerve to ask her out. Sam still couldn’t believe a coffee date had blossomed into a relationship. The fact that she wanted him still resounded in the deepest part of him.

With a happy smile, Sam lets his thoughts drift into a pleasant daydream as he makes his way towards his next class. Life didn’t get better than this, and he knows that has nothing to do with the beer.

Just as he is about to move into a cluster of trees to sit down and relax until class begins, Sam hears the bells singing from the Hoover Tower. Loud and melodic, it chimes the hour. Just like it does everyday, every hour. Another mundane reference to time passing, he believes. Unfortunately, there is a sourness to the chiming, as if something in the back of his mind is demanding to be released into his consciousness.

The perfect image of Jessica disappears in that moment, and Sam remembers what day it is. November 2nd. He’s twenty years and six months old – to the day. Almost the exact amount of time since Mom was brutally slain.

His knees feel weak with the onslaught of despair in his veins, forcing Sam to grab the first bench by the trees and slouch into it. Twenty years without _her_ , the single most important person in his life. Or she would have been had she not been taken.

Rubbing his eyes with his hand, Sam fights back a burst of intense loss, always lurking inside - his constant companion growing up.  Part of him wishes he could run back to his dorm and lock the door to block out the sickening ring of the bells, and the knowledge that he would never know his mother like Dean did. That a picture of her, smiling and happy in his father’s embrace, was the only thing he has that connects him to her. No memories. No stories Dad told when he and Dean were little. Not even the mention of her _name_.

Sam opens his eyes and focuses on the busyness of the walkway: students trudging to their classes or meeting up with friends and significant others. The smiles, laughter and flirtation, all seems a sham to him now. Did he believe he could be threaded together with _these_ people and their normal lives?

Images of Dean and Dad flash across his mind. What were they doing? Were they holed up in some bar, drinking themselves into oblivion to make their mutual pain disappear? Sam nearly reaches for his cell phone but thinks twice. The last thing he wants is to endure the awkwardness of calling his brother for the first time in over a year. Dean had never put forth the effort to keep in touch: why should Sam? What is there to say, anyway?

> _Hey Dean. Hey Dad. Just realized Mom’s been dead twenty years. Wanted to see how you were._

Yeah, right. Sam knows exactly how the rest of his family is doing, and he doesn’t want to know. No way will he ever admit that _they_ are the only ties Sam will have in this life. The only connection he will ever feel, whether he chooses to acknowledge it or not.

Finally the bells stop ringing, and once again there is peaceful silence. But all of that is lost on Sam, who forces himself to stand up and head to class. His feet are like lead, dragging him towards another hour of a professor droning nonsense. Nothing to prevent Sam from losing himself in his head and wishing for a bottle of Jack Daniels to block out the anger and futility.


End file.
